


This Is Not A Drill

by CongratulationsBaby, Green_Lemon



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27056539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CongratulationsBaby/pseuds/CongratulationsBaby, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Lemon/pseuds/Green_Lemon
Summary: Set during 3x12 'Blood and Fire' but A/U in which Bridget was never forced to resign and so was still in the prison.Franky rescues Bridget from the fire, and the imminent danger brings them closer together.
Relationships: Franky Doyle/Bridget Westfall
Comments: 13
Kudos: 53





	This Is Not A Drill

**Author's Note:**

> A/N
> 
> This fic is a fresh collaboration brought to you by the mind of Green_Lemon and the hands of CongratulationsBaby. 
> 
> This came about through some random thoughts and snowballed into a totally genius idea because Green_Lemon just absolutely creatively rocks! Like seriously, Green_Lemon just freakin' KILLS IT! And so this is a 50/50 fic between us both as I put her ideas to paper and, in her own words, got it "exactly" as she pictured it.
> 
> Okay, so before I get told off by her for "exaggerating" (honestly, I get told off so many times for that and I'm not even sorry heh), we both hope you all enjoy!!
> 
> It's fiction so suspend your belief naturally - I've never been stuck in a prison whilst it's on fire and I don't know what these buildings are made of, so yeah. 
> 
> ENJOY ENJOY ENJOY
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Wentworth or any of the characters, you know, the usual 'don't sue me' content.

_This Is Not A Drill_

“Sierra Seven, why are the gates still locked?”

Bea and Franky waited in silence, on tenterhooks, as they heard Vera’s voice just down the corridor. The walkie-talkie snapped into life within seconds.

“ _The fire has caused electrical faults. We need to override them individually.”_

“Right, well get a move on.”

They could hear the _clicking_ of Vera’s heels as she moved closer to the room they were hiding in, door ajar as they sat with their backs against the wall.

“The fire brigade’s on the way,” they heard Vera say with a newfound authority, right outside the room, “where’s Anderson’s baby?”

“There’s two areas we can’t get to,” the voice of Linda Miles replied, “Industries and the staff corridor located above it. Smoke’s too thick in Industries, and there’s structural damage in the upper floor staff corridor due to the explosion from the kitchen.”

“Industries must be where it started,” Vera sighed, “as for the staff corridor… are all staff accounted for?”

There was a pause, and Franky felt a sudden sinking feeling in her gut as she thought about what rooms were in that corridor.

“All staff except Ms Westfall,” Linda replied once more, “she might be outside already, but no-one has reported eyes on her, and she doesn’t have radio communication so…”

“Okay,” they could almost hear the wheels turning quickly in Vera’s mind as she assessed the situation, “get everyone out, I’ll ask for an override of the security on the staff corridor as a priority so she doesn’t need her badge to get out if she’s still there. The fire service will need access to that corridor anyway, so makes sense.”

“We’ll have to leave it to the firies,” Linda said quickly, looking at the prisoners being herded out to their muster points, “come on.”

Their footsteps faded into the distance and finally Franky and Bea took a moment to glance at each other. Bea saw the abject terror in Franky’s eyes and knew instantly what needed to be done.

“I’ll go to Industries,” she said decisively, gripping Franky’s arm, “you go get Ms Westfall.”

Franky nodded, releasing a shaky breath and trying to blink away the tears that were already stinging her eyes at the mere _thought_ of Bridget being in danger.

“Okay,” she said, “shit… you best take the corridor behind laundry.”

“I will,” Bea reassured her, “and you take the stairs furthest from the kitchens okay? Better chance of getting access to the corridor.”

“Yup,” Franky took a deep, controlled breath, _just like Gidget would tell me to do,_ she thought grimly.

As Bea moved to a crouching position, peeking out the door, Franky caught her arm, “Red?”

Bea turned to look at her.

“You make sure Dor gets Joshy, yeah?”

It was one of those make-or-break moments, where they realised that maybe, _just maybe,_ one of them would not be making it out of the prison alive.

“I will,” Bea nodded, her voice cracking as she gripped Franky’s arm, “and you get your woman out, yeah?”

Franky let out a huff of laughter and sniffed, a tear finally escaping and tracking down her cheek, “I will.”

“See you out there.”

With that, Bea disappeared from the room.

****

_Evacuate the building. This is not a drill. Keep calm and proceed to muster points._

“Heard ya the first fucking time,” Franky muttered to herself as she ducked into another crevice, just in time to miss a guard stalking the hall with several prisoners trailing behind.

Her mind was racing, coming up with all the worst-case scenarios it could.

_Bridget unconscious from smoke inhalation._

_Bridget trapped under beams and bricks._

_Bridget alone, fighting for life._

_Bridget dead._

“Fuck!” she agonised, feeling her breathing quicken and her pulse race. This was not helping. Franky was never good at sitting back and thinking logically at the best of times, she preferred the direct approach of jumping headfirst into any situation. With Bridget on the line, it was like she was ready to self-destruct. She’d throw herself headfirst in to the fire for Bridget Westfall, and fuck it, she’d burn for her.

She’d certainly die for her.

Even if Franky didn’t have the sinking feeling that she would never leave Wentworth alive, even if she had all the hope in the world of getting out and finally living her life, she’d gladly sacrifice herself at the altar of Bridget. Because Franky didn’t deserve to live, and Bridget did.

Bridget, the psychologist who challenged Franky, poked her and prodded her, who brought down the sullen prisoner’s walls. Bridget, the woman who made Franky feel alive for the first time in a long while, who captivated her and elevated her, who made her feel _something_ that she hadn’t felt before. Was it love this early?

She’d never know if she didn’t get to her in time.

As the last of the prisoners disappeared from view, Franky threw herself desperately down the winding corridors away from the kitchens, her breath soon coming out as jagged, wheezing gasps. She reached the stairs quickly, taking them two, sometimes three at a time, gripping the handrail like it was the only thing keeping her up. Maybe it was.

At the top, she flew into the glass partition, hitting it with a dull _thud_ as she caught her breath and felt coordination returning. Within seconds, Franky had wrenched open the door, relieved that Vera’s command to override the security had been acted upon so quickly, and was greeted with a cacophony of sound. The alarms were directly above her, screeching and drowning out the echoes of the PA system. Franky looked at the corridor in horror. The emergency lights flickered helplessly above rubble, metal shelving, and overturned desks and chairs. Glass and paper, no doubt previously confidential files, littered the floor, which was now covered with a white dusting from broken plastering.

There were holes in the ceiling and the walls, and Franky moved further into the corridor in search of the one door she spent many a time beating a worn path to. A room which she always equated with a bubbling happy feeling in her chest. The door to Bridget’s room was ajar and jammed by a metal rack. The nameplate that was usually pride of place on the door had disappeared, no doubt another victim to the explosion that must have rocked the corridor. 

Franky grasped the metal rack, grunting as she pulled it up. It was reluctant to budge, and she felt sweat beading her forehead as the heat of the fire below and the effort started to take its toll.

“Fuck,” she hissed, letting it drop slightly in her arms as she took a breath, noting the hazy air around her as smoke started to pervade the corridor.

It was then that she heard it.

“Franky?” The smallest voice, filled with fear.

_Gidget._

“Right here!” Franky called out and, with renewed strength and determination, she pulled once more at the rack and felt it slowly shift under her hands. _Just. One. More. Tug. And-_

The rack clattered to her side as Franky wasted no time and hurriedly pushed open the door. Bridget’s room was a mess, the desk and lime green chairs all overturned, and folders scattered over the floor. Franky looked around desperately for Bridget.

“Gidget?” She called out urgently, eyes roving the slightly smoke-hazed room, “where the fuck are you?”

A relieved sob came from the corner of the room and Franky spotted her then, dark blonde hair and pale face standing out against the wall as she sat slumped.

Franky rushed over and dropped to her knees in front of Bridget, her hands roving over her body looking for injuries. Bridget allowed it, squinting up at her as she did so.

“What the fuck happened, Gidge?” Franky asked as her hands now moved down her legs, “why aren’t ya out with the others?”

Bridget winced and let out a sharp gasp as Franky’s hand touched her right ankle.

 _“Fuck,_ ” she groaned and Franky made a note, “I was… on my way out when there was some kind of explosion. I… something hit me and I stumbled and hit my head on that metal rack outside… I think I twisted my ankle.”

“No wonder you stumbled, swaggering around in _those_ fucking heels,” Franky snorted, her voice shaking, “for the record, I’d check out your legs either way so maybe go for flats from now on, ‘kay?”

Bridget let out a huff of laughter before wincing once more.

“I also hit my head.”

_Head._

Franky leaned over and started to probe Bridget’s scalp, pulling her hair aside and looking for _anything._ Her hands moved to the back and immediately Franky pulled them away, feeling blood coat her fingers.

 _Fuck,_ she thought desperately as she looked at Bridget’s dazed expression, _okay, head injuries usually bleed a lot so it’s probably a small concussion and she’s fine. She has to be fine._

Franky stood up and looked toward the door, making a note of the rising heat she felt through her hoodie.

“Okay, Gidget, I’m gonna check the corridor to make sure we’re clear and then we need to get out of here, yeah?”

At Bridget’s hesitant nod, Franky moved over to the door and poked her head out. What had previously been clear was now impossible to see through a thick layer of smoke. Past the rubble and broken furniture, she could just make out the vibrant hues of flames in the distance, blocking off the route she had raced up to get to Bridget, and spreading through the paperwork that littered the corridor. Perfect kindling.

“ _Fucking fuck_!” Franky spat out, feeling the panic rise up in her chest and tighten its grip. _She couldn’t breathe. Fuck. They were going to die._ Without thinking Franky reeled back into the room and slammed the door shut, leaning against it with her forehead touching the heated surface.

“Okay, okay, okay…” she muttered to herself.

“Franky?”

She turned back to Bridget, who was watching her warily from her position against the wall. Franky sighed and moved back over, feeling the panic subside only slightly in the presence of Bridget, but more than anything needing to put on a brave face.

_At least she had Bridget by her side._

Franky collapsed down next to her, close enough that their shoulders touched. It was the smallest but most incredible form of comfort for two people who had spent every day treading that fine line and pushing against but never quite penetrating the boundaries.

“We’re not getting out, are we?” Bridget asked. She was trying to sound calm, but her voice shook slightly and Franky knew her too well.

Franky didn’t respond, instead choosing to pick at her nails as she leant her elbows on her bent knees. 

“You might be able to get out if you-“ Bridget started, but Franky violently shook her head.

“Nuh.”

“Franky,” Bridget tried again, watching her face, “I can’t… I feel dizzy and my ankle… if you get out and get help, they can-“

_“No.”_

“Franky, you-“

“ _Fucking_ leave it, alright!?” Franky swiped at her nose and glared at Bridget, feeling anger now choking her. She would _work_ with anger. Anger at the fire, at the situation, at Bridget for even _thinking_ that… “I’m not leaving you.”

Bridget sighed and rubbed her face wearily.

“Look,” she said firmly, and Franky’s eyes darted over the face, “you have… you have _so_ much potential, Franky. Out there, outside these walls. Please don’t throw that away now, you _deserve_ that future.”

Franky felt her anger ebbing away as she watched Bridget’s eyes glittering with unshed tears, seeing the fear that Bridget held for her.

“You really don’t get it do you?” Franky whispered brokenly, though she felt the ghost of a smile tug at her lips. Bridget would sacrifice herself gladly for _her_ future, just as Franky would throw herself in the flames to protect Bridget, or at least to know that she wasn’t alone in the end. They were in this together.

Bridget inhaled sharply as one of Franky’s hands came up, gently caressing the side of her face and, as her fingers traced her cheek _so_ lovingly, Bridget finally let out a muffled sob at the situation.

“I’m fucking in love with you, Gidge,” Franky murmured, keeping her hand still and firm against Bridget’s cheek, trying to radiate the calm that Bridget had so often given her as the other woman tried to contain her tears, “you _are_ my future, so I’m not going anywhere.”

Bridget pulled in several short breaths in an attempt to calm herself, and Franky noted that her breathing was becoming shallower with each attempt. Bridget coughed, and Franky really started to take notice of the thickening smoke. 

“Gidge,” Franky cupped her chin and brought the dazed blue eyes to hers, “I need you to focus on me, okay? You’re taking in a lot of smoke and the concussion, you being dizzy, is making it worse. I need you to stay with me.”

“Franky…” Bridget nodded but wasn’t really listening. She struggled, starting to wheeze, “I need you to know… I’m in love with you too… and I’m _so_ sorry you’re… trapped with me.”

“I’m not,” Franky responded fiercely, her chest constricting as Bridget’s words washed over her. _She loved her too,_ “we’re in this together, no matter what… but I need you to stay with me, okay?”

Bridget was starting to shake as the panic of her struggle to draw fresh air started to set in.

“Christ, Gidge,” Franky tried desperately to keep her grounded. Why was it so difficult to think? Bridget was always so _good_ at that, “I haven’t even kissed you yet, so you better keep with me.”

Bridget’s laugh turned into another sob, and she continued to struggle.

“Tell me…” she closed her eyes, “about… our first date.”

“Well,” Franky re-arranged them so they both leaned back against the wall once more, with Bridget’s head resting comfortably on her shoulder and Franky’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close, “I thought first I’d pick you up, maybe no flowers but a bottle of wine instead. You don’t seem like an old fashioned kinda girl, ya know?”

Bridget hummed in response, her panic slowly dissipating in Franky’s embrace, and Franky continued.

“I’d take you out to dinner, somewhere classy like you… maybe walk a pier or a beach or hell anywhere you want to go, and then I’d drop you off at your door of course with one hell of a kiss to end the night.”

No response from Bridget. Franky felt herself starting to struggle to draw in air, and she coughed a few times, her shoulder jostling Bridget’s head. Still no sound or movement, and Franky felt her heart sink.

_No, no, no._

She’d pictured their first date _so_ many times, in excruciating detail right up to their kiss. Maybe Bridget would smile that beautiful enigmatic smile of hers before softly closing the door or _maybe_ she’d pull Franky in by the lapels, their bodies hitting every surface on the way to the bedroom, clothes disappearing as they went…

Franky wanted that date.

She wanted that date and she’d fucking get it.

“I love you, Gidge,” she whispered fiercely, “and I’m not losing you now.”

With a newfound determination, Franky gently moved Bridget aside and laid her down on the floor, careful to cushion her head. She pulled her hoodie off quickly, grateful for the air on her overheated skin, and bundled it up, placing it under Bridget’s head.

Franky ran to the door and yanked it open, desperate for something, _anything,_ to help them. A miracle would be perfect just about now. As the door opened, she was hit with a wave of heat that left her gasping and her skin burning. Franky grit her teeth and stepped out. The fire now surrounded her on all sides, lapping at the walls and leaving nothing but black scorching trails in its wake. The paperwork that had littered before was now ash, swirling in the air around her and lightly dancing on her skin, dropping soot and stinging.

Franky had never felt more alive, determined as she was to save Bridget.

She looked around quickly, taking note of the charred cabinets and hearing the crackle as the chairs in the distance burned. Her hand came out tentatively to move along the wall next to the door, feeling desperately for something like a fire alarm, or a switch to set any sprinklers off. Why wasn’t there any sprinkler system in place? It was then that she felt it. Glass. A plane of glass, so far untouched by the flames. Her hand moved up and down it and Franky noted it was too big to be a “break glass” fire alarm. She shifted her position just outside of the door and looked over, finding a small axe sitting innocuously behind the glass. Without thinking, Franky elbowed the glass, gritting her teeth as she felt the bite of shards against her skin. There was no time to check her cuts though, and she grabbed the axe and pulled herself back in, slamming the door shut.

Bridget remained on the floor, unconscious, and Franky knelt down beside her.

“Was going to save the kiss… until our first date, Gidge,” she panted, “or at least until… you are conscious, but just in case this doesn’t work…”

She brought a hand to Bridget’s cheek and leaned in, covering Bridget’s lips with her own and desperately trying to pour every bit of feeling, every bit of love and devotion, into it as she breathed in Bridget’s scent. Pulling away reluctantly with a sigh, Franky took one last look at Bridget before getting back up, this time struggling as she felt her breath come out in short sharp bursts.

Franky staggered over to the window of the office, and drew the axe back in both hands.

“Here goes… _nothing_!”

The axe cut through the air, but Franky’s swing was too wide and the axe hit the metal window frame.

 _“Fuck,_ ” she cried out, feeling sluggish.

The second attempt rang true, and Franky felt the axe embed itself in the glass, shattering the window so completely that the shards of glass exploded and sailed around her. A rush of cold air hit her instantly, and Franky sobbed in relief, feeling tears stinging her face as she pulled the fresh crisp air into her lungs. There were cries from below and Franky moved to the window, sticking her head out.

All of the prisoners were crowded in the exercise yards, their faces pressed eagerly against the chain-link fences as they gasped in horror at the funnels of smoke in the sky.

“ _Franky_!” A voice suddenly called out urgently from below, and Franky could have laughed as she recognised it as Boomer, “ _Fuck! Up there! It’s Franky! Look!”_

Franky waved her arm out of the window desperately getting all the attention she could.

“We need help!” She screamed out, her eyes trying to focus on the firefighters and the guards. _There._ She spotted Vera, talking to Bea who was holding a baby cradled to her chest, and the small, stern woman suddenly tuned her attention upwards at Franky’s sudden cries. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she signalled to firefighters nearby.

“I’ve got Bri- _Ms Westfall_!” Franky continued to shout, feeling the rawness of her throat from the smoke inhalation, “We’re in her office! She’s… she’s injured! We can’t get out!”

She saw the firefighters nod quickly and move toward the building. Franky sighed in relief and pulled her head back in, moving over and sitting down next to the unconscious Bridget once more.

“Help is on the way, Gidge,” she shifted Bridget’s body so her head was now resting in Franky’s lap, and entwined their hands together, “we’re gonna get out of here, I promise.”

Franky closed her eyes as she felt overwhelmingly tired. The cool breeze from outside continued to filter in, and she slowly traced patterns on Bridget’s knuckles with her thumb.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

****

The first thing that Franky heard was the blaring sirens of the firetrucks, followed closely by the cries of her fellow prisoners who were all screaming out her name, Boomer of course being the loudest.

“ _Fuck,_ Franky! You were almost a goner, eh!?”

Franky smiled reassuringly at Boomer as the firefighters led her past, their arms around her blanket-covered shoulders as they helped keep her steady. They stopped in front of Vera.

“Doyle,” she greeted her, her face inscrutable as always, “you need to be checked out by the paramedic. Come with me.”

Vera took her out of the firefighter’s hands and led her with a firm grip of the elbow, to the nearest ambulance. As they neared the open back of the ambulance, Franky glanced behind her and saw an ambulance crew laying Bridget down quickly on a gurney, placing an oxygen mask over her face and chatting away to each other urgently. She stopped in her tracks.

“Doyle,” Vera instructed, “I need you to-“

“Nuh.”

Vera tightened her grip and Franky pulled her arm away roughly.

“I need to see Ms Westfall,” she said stubbornly. Vera’s jaw twitched in annoyance.

“You’re getting checked out so-“

“I. Need. To. See. Her,” Franky punctuated each word, glaring at Vera. Vera sighed and Franky saw her eyes soften slightly.

“You can see her after-“

“Now.”

“Doyle- _Franky_ …” Vera said, and Franky saw that the woman had given in, her shoulders slumped exhausted, “what you did, going back in there for Ms Westfall, it was reckless but…” she struggled to find the words to express herself, and merely finished, “You saved her life.”

The _thank you_ was left unspoken between them and Franky nodded stiffly in response.

“You have one minute.”

Vera walked away toward the ambulance with walkie talkie in hand, and Franky didn’t waste a second, running over to the gurney that held Bridget and was being rushed toward another ambulance. Franky pushed and shoved her way amongst the paramedics, shouldering them as she made it to Bridget’s side and saw with utter relief blue eyes staring back at her, glittering with… well, Franky knew now, with _love._ Bridget smiled underneath the oxygen mask and her hand came up sluggishly, tugging the mask away from her face.

“There’s my life saver…” she rasped out, and Franky snorted, feeling the tears rolls down her cheeks and not caring at all, “… nicely done.”

The warmth in Bridget’s tone soothed Franky in a way that nothing else could, and it was like a fog had lifted from her mind. _Bridget was alive. She was alive. They were alive._

“I told ya I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Bridget hummed in response, a chuckle bursting out and causing her to wheeze and cough. A paramedic very firmly pulled the oxygen mask out of Bridget’s grip and placed it back on her face, which made her roll her eyes at Franky, though she was amused.

Franky took that moment to grasp Bridget’s hand with her own, tracing her knuckles once more but quickly so as not to catch any attention. The paramedics seeing was one thing, but if another prisoner caught it, or even _Vera,_ there would be a world of trouble. In response, Bridget tightened her grip, squeezing Franky’s hand once, twice, three times.

The comfort of two people who were so far over the line now, who had shattered their boundaries like an axe to glass, and who would be together soon.

**Author's Note:**

> We hope you loved as much as we freakin' enjoyed coming up with and writing it <3
> 
> Feel free to kudos and comment. 
> 
> I'm pretty confident I've won Green_Lemon over with my natural Fridget charm as a collab writer (okay, so maybe "wore her down" is more realistic), so we'll definitely be back with more in the future!


End file.
